Delirium
by quickand2thepointless
Summary: Ike shares his heart in the midst of a raging fever, but will he remember in the morning? IkexSoren.


Another SorenxIke one shot. I can't help it- they're just so cute!

I still don't own any of these characters. They'd want me to own them if I lived in their universe, though. At least sexy Ranulf would :)

A little explanation goes with this one. I tend to get migraines a lot, and when they happen to be very bad ones, I end up becoming delirious out of my mind. I don't drink very much, but I know from experience that being delirious is as about as effective of a truth serum as alcohol. You do tend to ramble a bit and spout nonsense, but sense your defenses are weakened and your brain isn't at its sharpest, you can often end up confessing to things you would never even consider sharing while coherent. Also, I know from experience that being nursed to health by someone you love when you're sick and at your lowest point is one of the single most romantic gestures one can experience. Let's see how these two Fire Emblem sweeties enjoy it...

* * *

He was never sick. He was just too strong for that sort of nonsense; his immune system may very well have been made of steel. Sure, he got colds and earaches when he was a kid just like everyone else, but once he became a young man, nothing could touch him. He didn't have time to sit days at a time out in bed, and maybe the goddess respected that. There were wars to fight, contracts to fulfill, and plans to make. As commander of the Greil Mercenaries, he had to be on top shape so he could manage leadership of their little group. They were a fairly well oiled machine, but they still looked to him for guidance (Shinon only grudgingly), and he preferred to keep two eyes on everything they were doing so everything ran smoothly.

But fever hit mid-winter, and very few of them were spared. Mist fell first, and then Boyd who had nursed her, and then Oscar who had nursed him. Mia was beginning to look a bit glassy eyed and off her game in training, and Rolf was losing his appetite. Titania was safe thus far, and Rhys, too, since Titania forced him to remain far away from the rest of the company so he wouldn't fall ill. Gatrie and Shinon left for town the minute Mist became flushed and drained with fever, so they too were kept safe. That left Soren and Ike, both of whom rarely ever got sick.

But whatever charms the goddess typically kept over Ike to keep him well and in health dissipated on a cold Sunday afternoon. He had felt a bit odd that morning- the bacon and eggs Titania had made tasted unusually flat and unfilling—but it wasn't until he met Soren in his little office for a short status report that he realized that his body was slowly turning against him, stealing his control and sappping his strength and coherency with gluttonous verve.

"So," Soren was saying in his endearingly bossy tone, "weapon supplies are low, but that can be put off until we have more funds. Food and medicine are more pressing issues, especially since all the broth and elixirs in our stores are going to help our ailing members." He paused to take a breath, casting his somber red eyes on his commander's face. "Um, Ike?"

"'ssssall good," Ike murmured, rubbing at his forehead with calloused hands. "Go on."

"But- but you're sweating!"

"Mhmm?"

"You're sweating and it's about as cold as ice in this room."

"Yes, very cold." Ike shivered.

"But you're sweating!" Soren echoed. "You- you're sick!"

"Nooo, I'm not. I don't get sick."

"Ike, you're drooping in your chair. You look like you're going to pass out any second now. Yes, I think you're sick."

"Noo," Ike protested again, but his cry fell on deaf ears. Soren had already left his desk and looped over to where Ike was falling off his chair. He placed his arms around the bigger man's shoulders so that Ike was leaning on him, but he didn't think he possessed the strength to haul his muscular bulk all the way down the hall to his bedroom.

"Too bad Gatrie isn't here," Soren muttered, pushing his dark bangs from his eyes. "I don't know anyone else who'd be able to lift Ike when he's like this. Hmm." He pursed his lips and pondered for a moment.

"Not sick," Ike whispered doggedly into Soren's ear, his voice far off and faint. He was like a limp weight against his friend's shoulders; neither of them were going anywhere unless Ike miraculously regained his energy for a moment or two. Soren sighed and set him back into the chair. He would have to pull together a makeshift bed on his office floor for the time being and keep Ike there until the fever broke and he was out of the fog of delirium.

He grabbed the commander's sheets and pillows from his bedroom, pausing only a moment to inhale the rough and leathery odor that lingered sweetly wherever Ike went, and returned to his office to get to work. He cringed at the thought of making Ike- a seriously ill and weakened Ike, no less- sleep on the floor, but there was really nothing else he could do. It was hard enough to haul him down to the ground and into the cocoon of sheets and blankets he had placed there for his comfort, and a greater feat of strength on his part was impossible. The floor would have to do.

Ike settled into his new bed restlessly. Sweat poured across his fine features, and his mouth was pinched into an expression of unease. Soren felt himself growing somewhat ill at the sight of his usually untouchable friend in the throes of such misery, but he sucked such feelings in when he reminded himself that he was all Ike had for the moment. If Soren was weak, how could Ike be strong?

"C-cold," Ike sighed, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Awful. H-h-horrible."

"I know," Soren hummed, placing his palm against Ike's forehead. It was on fire. "You should rest. It'll help you feel better when you wake up. And I'll make you some soup and try to see if there are any leftover elixirs on hand."

Thankfully, Ike took his words to heart, falling back into his pillows with fluttering eyelashes and a long, exhausted sigh. Soren stayed beside him until he fell asleep, gently brushing strands of Ike's hair from his damp forehead and repetitively testing the temperature of his body with the palm of his had. When Ike's breathing evened out and a slight snore slid out from his lips, Soren quietly exited the room to head down to the kitchens. He didn't know much about cooking- that was Oscar's and Mist's job- but he put every effort he had into stirring the ingredients together and keeping the mixture from going too hot.

Ike's comfort depended on him.

* * *

It was frightening how quickly madness gripped.

It was outside his control. The sickness did as it liked with him. It loosened his tongue and gave him visions that shattered him, that made him want to drown and never breathe again. There was his father, the cold steel of Alondite piercing through his chest. His mother singing a lullaby he would never hear her sing again. All of his friends, covered from head to toe with enemy arrows, blood pouring forth in scarlet rivers. Ranulf with his throat slit. Mist's skin pale white and lifeless. Elincia's lips limp, unmoving. Soren's heart stilled. Never to beat again.

It was impossible to tell himself it wasn't real.

He opened his eyes. Everything he saw swam before him in a blend of incomprehensible color. There was no discernible shape to them, no concrete pattern. A swatch black. A line of white. A cool touch on his face, foreign yet familiar. There were words being said, but he could not hear them fully. He was not sure whether it was he that spoke them, or if there was someone else there with him.

For a moment he felt nothing more besides the chill and exhaustion that racked his body. Then, out of the blue, the feeling of liquid running down his throat, soft and soothing. He knew somewhere inside him that he wasn't hungry for once in his life, but there were hands urging the meal into him, voices whispering promises of recovery and sanity if he ate. He trusted them, though he wasn't quite sure why. They seemed so self assured that he could not for a moment doubt them.

He opened his eyes again, searching deep into the darkness. His hand caught another hand, one smaller than his own. The fingers were long and soft, like a woman's, but there was a firmness in them and in the pressure they placed on his own that was purely masculine. He knew these hands, and though he could see nothing, he knew who was with him.

"S-soren?"

* * *

It was slightly intoxicating to hear his name stammered so smoothly by Ike. The way he spoke was typically uncultured and rough, but this was soft and silken, even verging on sensual. Soren almost had to slap himself in reminder that Ike was sick and in great pain and hardly flirting with him. It was a nice and beautiful thing to hear, but it meant nothing, really. Ike was in a different realm of being right now, and wasn't even in control of the way his voice and words sounded.

"Yes, Ike, it's me," he answered shakingly, continuing to spoon soup into the commander's mouth. "I would never leave you. Ever. You know that." He didn't expect Ike to hear what he was saying, but it seemed like a kind gesture to make. He knew what demons could plague someone in a delirious state, and he wanted to be sure Ike didn't have to face them alone.

"I know," Ike whispered back, surprising Soren. "Thank you."

"You... you're welcome." He set the soup bowl on his desk and went back to brushing Ike's hair from his brow.

"Come here," Ike slurred, feebly swatting the space beside him on the blankets. "So cold." His body was shaking.

"But-"

"Shuddup. I need you. So... so damn cold."

Soren sighed, a mix of desire for closeness to the one he loved and terror for this new and awkward situation swimming in his veins. He slid down into the blankets, and Ike instantly drew him closer, greedily drawing in his warmth. ""sss nice," he breathed into Soren's hair, his breath bringing goosebumps to the mage's neck. "Warm."

"Mhm," Soren responded noncommittally, his face feeling like it was about ready to burst on fire. He wasn't accustomed to these sorts of things. He wasn't sure if he could diffidently provide Ike this warmth without thinking first of the thing he really wanted to give to Ike, which good sense and fear had forbidden him from giving.

"Always so warm," Ike continued, his voice plodding and dreamy. "Everything about you."

_What? _Soren's heart hammered. Ike truly was delirious. Soren was anything but warm; only an insane person would insist otherwise.

"I always meant to tell you. Your hair... so soft. Your skin. Your hands." Ike loosened his fingers and gently brushed them against Soren's palm. "Wonder why I never said..."

"Because you don't really think that," Soren couldn't stop himself from snapping cynically. "That's the fever talking."

"No. Nooo. The darkness is gone. I can hear you talking. I can't see you, but I can feel you right here." He placed a hand on Soren's arm. "Always here."

"Think what you like. But with Mist talking of being the princess of Crimea in her sleep and Oscar challenging his bedpost to a duel, you really can't expect me to believe you." But Soren leaned into Ike's arm anyways, enjoying the gesture even though he didn't believe in it. "Go to sleep."

"You'll still be here."

"Of course."

"And I'll still remember in the morning."

"Remember what?"

"Remember what I said. Remember that you slept beside me. Remember the softness."

"Right," Soren said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Inwardly, he was smiling.

They laid there blissfully for a time, but when half an hour passed, Ike began quivering and yelping in his sleep. "Father," he wept anguishedly, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't go. Don't leave me. Not this way! FATHER!"

Soren, who rarely gave outward manifestations to his emotions, felt tears being drawn to his eyes. Why would the goddess make Ike suffer through this again. Why that particular nightmare, the one he least needed to be reminded of? This was pure cruelty. Why bring Ike this sickness and allow it to lead him to misery? He did not deserve this, not him. He was good and fair, and he saw everyone before him as an equal, even those who were like Soren and were tainted, bitter, and prejudiced against the world. If anyone deserved to be sleeping with nightmares, it was Soren himself. Ike had done nothing wrong. He never did.

But his cries only grew louder and more determined, and Soren racked his mind in a panic for some way to soothe his friend. There was that lullaby that Ike's mother used to sing and that Mist was always humming, but Soren couldn't quite remember how exactly that went. He couldn't hold Ike down, and waking him would do no good... perhaps there was another song he could sing. He didn't enjoy the thought, and quickly he dismissed it. Songs were for sentimental people like Mist or for creatures who actually had the gift for it like the herons. Soren's voice in comparison was rough and unstudied, and that hardly was conducive for soothing someone in a fit of despair. Besides, he didn't know any songs that could be sung in the New Tongue. He'd have to make one up, and there was no way he could possibly do _that_.

"I'll kill him!" Ike raged, breaking into Soren's thoughts. "I'll kill him and take from him what he took from my father. I'll see him dead for what he's done. How could he? What's the point... of living... maybe I should... just." A moan of pain escaped his lips.

Without another thought, Soren turned to face Ike and slipped his hands against his cheek. Words came to him like they were always there, just waiting for a moment to be unleashed. Soren's dignity and pride kept them in check, but there was no pride in watching a friend and loved one suffer. There was only shame in holding back when hesitance meant cowardice.

_Sleep sound, my angel, _Soren sang in his unaccomplished voice, his voice quavering slightly.

_Let your happiest dreams take wing.  
May they soar up to the heavens_

_Where the goddess sighs and sings._

_Don't cry, little lovely-_

_When your troubled world is shattered_

_Sleep your nightmares into dreamings_

_And forget that once it mattered._

_Don't fret, sweetest darling-_

_Just let this storm pass through._

_If you're on the verge of breaking_

_I can dry the rain from you._

_Sweet dreams, precious wonder-_

_Let your mind run true and free._

_If I had my way you'd always_

_Dream happily of me._

_When you wake up, secret dearest_

_I'll be ever at your side_

_Though you won't recall what words I sang you,_

_Or remember how you cried._

_I will go on with this burden_

_Thinking, "Does he want this as I do?_

_Would he love me if I told him?_

_Would he hate me if he knew?"_

_But for now, sleep sound, dear angel-_

_Let your happiest dreams take wing._

_If you're happy, then I'm happy_

_No matter what the morning brings._

Soren fell silent, and so did Ike. There was a look of peace on a face, a look of strange and satisfying certainty. The mage had no clue what it meant, but he was glad that what he had done had dispelled the horrors that had been haunting Ike. Exhausted himself, he rested his head beside Ike's on the pillow and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

There was a voice. Singing. A song powerful and magical like a heron's, but the voice that cut through his vision was not Reyson's. Reyson never stumbled over words, and he certainly did not sound so affectionate and worshipful. Besides, these words were spoken in the new tongue. When the heron sang, Ike never knew exactly what was being said. But right now, in this tremulous moment, he understood every word.

_I know, _he wanted to say. _I want this, too. Such a tremendous ache inside me. But you never acted like you wanted anyone to get close. Not even me._

But the fever was still cruel. He couldn't speak his assurances or even move to wrap his arms around the small, slight boy and pull him closer. His arms remained too tired to move, his voice to drowned in pain to rise to the surface.

Morning would come. He would say then. Even if he wasn't all the way better, he would still put every ounce of strength in his body into telling Soren everything. Even if he fainted from exhaustion as soon as the words were out, he needed to say something. Soren didn't deserve this misery. He'd been through enough. And he was so... soft.

Inside and out.

* * *

Morning came, and Soren woke at the usual ungodly hour. Ike was still asleep beside him, his clothes and hair rumpled gently, but he was neither sweating or shivering as fiercely as he had the day before. Soren pressed a hand against his forehead. Still hot, but not dangerously slow. Ike really did have a will of steel. The illness that had kept Mist and Boyd in bed for a week would not linger long within him.

Early riser though he was, Soren didn't quite feel like retreating from Ike's side. He had never felt safer, more at home in his whole life. He knew that he may never feel this comfort again for the rest of his life, so he wallowed in it while he could. Yawning languidly and stretching out his cramped limbs like a cat, he fell happily back to sleep.

Hours later, he felt Ike shift beside him, and he again woke up. His companion's eye were still closed, and his breathing still even. Asleep. Instinctively he extended a hand out to reach for Ike's forehead, but as soon he lifted it an inch from his face, it was snatched up in Ike's massive paws. The stronger boy, though still weak from the fever, gathered Soren in his arms and pinned him in an embrace. Soren laid sprawled against Ike's stomach, and no matter how hard he squirmed and wiggled under his crushing arms, he could not escape.

"What are you doing?" he asked Ike tersely, though it was a struggle even to speak. "Planning on strangling me?"

"Not a chance," Ike whispered, his voice hoarse. The fever still gripped him, but so too did desire. Both took away his voice, making it tremulous, shaky.

"You're still sick," Soren sighed, squirming again. "If you let me go, I'll get you some soup. This can hardly be comfortable for you."

"It's very comfortable. You're so tiny, I can hardly feel you." He loosened his grip a little, but there was still no way Soren was escaping.

"I would ask how you could possibly manage to do this as sick as you are, but this is _you _we're talking about," Soren harrumphed. "But you should let me go. You still have no idea what you're doing."

"Of course I do. I told you I would remember."

"Remember?" Soren could almost feel his heart stop beating.

"Everything I told you I would last night. Everything. Every word of it. And I meant it, whether you believe me or not." He removed his hands from Soren's waist and they fell limp to his sides. "If you want to, I guess you can go."

But Soren remained exactly where he was, his body seemingly frozen. "What... how?"

"I may have been sick. I may still be sick. But I never say something I don't mean. Never. Don't you know that?"

Soren could only sputter, his lips trembling.

Ike smiled to himself, though it was draining even to smile. "You never say what you don't mean either, so don't be so coy. I dreamed happy dreams all night for you, just because you asked. Hours upon hours of you, and nothing but you..."

Soren was nearly choking. If Ike continued in that vein for another second, he might have even had a seizure. This whole episode was unexpected... so beautifully unexpected.

"Funny," Ike murmured. "You said you would happy in your song. You didn't mention anything about gaping at me like a drowning fish."

"Ike..." Soren warned, his voice coming out in a squeak. "Don't look at me like that. This isn't easy, and you... you... you're so infuriating!"

"But you like it," Ike teased. "You're blushing." He drew Soren's hair across his lips and kissed it.

Soren said nothing. He just watched in amazement as Ike weaved his hair through his fingers as if this action was as natural to him as breathing. How did he do it? Sick and feverish and tired to the bone, and still so seamless and sure. Soren didn't think he would ever understand. He wasn't sure that he even wanted to.

"Well?" Ike murmured, letting Soren's hair slip from his fingers. "Are you going to just sit there?"

Soren shivered, his heart racing. "Why?" he whispered. "Why me?"

"Because you slept beside me all night on the floor when you didn't have to. Because you were the only thing I could see through my fever, the only shape that was distinguishable to me. Because you sang that song and made everything else go away. Because you blushed when I teased you. Because you're still blushing. Because you're still here." He brought his lips to Soren's chin, his cheek, his forehead. When he reached his nose, he gently tweaked it. "Because you're _you."_

And with that, came a kiss- a real one. Neither one could tell who had initiated it, because both of them had, both leaning in at the same time, both sharing the same thoughts in the same moment. It was something they both wanted, both shared in equally. Ike was stronger, and in a sense more whole inside, but this act he for once he did not dominate. He did not want to strangle Soren as Soren had accused him of doing; he wanted Soren above him on his own accord, Soren's hands against his face because Soren wanted them there, Soren's heart in time with his because Soren shared in his love with equal ferocity and might. He wanted to know that if he gave Soren leave to go, Soren would always choose to stay.

The moments passed, and they still remained locked in their affection. Ike noticed that Soren was humming a little in the back of his throat, a sound of enjoyment, a bit unlike him. In response, Ike began gently tugging at Soren's robes, raising them a little, unfastening them some to give Soren more of himself. Soren broke apart from the kiss, an almost wild look crossing his eyes.

"Uhm, Ike?"

"Yes?"

"You're..."

"Yes...?"

"Um. Well. You're still sick, you know."

"Are you accusing me of not knowing what I'm doing again?"

"No... but you should know your capabilities. You have a fever. You could pass out. You could make it worse..."

"Shuddup," Ike grunted, kissing him again.

Soren pulled away again, a look of incredulity on his face. "Tell me, is there anything you can't do?"

"I can't kiss you when you're talking. I also can't sing. Now shuddup."

"Oh..." Soren blushed again.

Which only made Ike kiss him harder.

* * *

A/N: Oh, I love a sexy ending. Soren's lullaby comes courtesy of my grade school notebook- I apparently wrote that when I was twelve when I supposed to be doing my math homework. I edited it a bit to fit the situation, but the gist of the original is still there. If only I had someone so lovely as Ike to sing it to...

Also, please give any feedback on grammar/content. Always looking to improve!


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